Gameboard III: Gameplay
by DarkBeta
Summary: AU. Kids. Wars. Use. The usual.
1. One and One

_[There may be some doubt that this is actually a Gatchaman story. The world and all the names are different, and i'm not sure i should even bother with a copyright announcement (tho' Gatchaman and all characters thereof will never in any reality be mine). Nonetheless, in my mind this cannot be anything else. You probably won't be confused for long.]_

Chapter One: One And One

When the boy and his father and mother lived together they were happy. His father the swordsman went to fight the Greencoats though, and didn't come back. One winter his mother grew faint and pale. The healer said she would never be well, so he sold himself to the slavers for money enough to make her last days comfortable. He had black hair and blue eyes, but after that winter he did not smile often.

The winter was hard and the Greencoats advanced. The slavers paid little for those they bought, and spent little to keep them alive. If one lagged behind he was taken from the coffle and killed where others could see, to give them reason to keep moving.

The slaves fought like rats over the food tossed to them. The boy closest to Blue-Eyes had the same birth year, but he was as tall and long-limbed as Blue-Eyes was compact. The slavers guessed he came from a Greencoat rape and called him Killer. It was the only mercy Blue-Eyes found, for when the slavers took out their spite on the boy Blue-Eyes ate his own share and the boy's. Otherwise he was lucky to get any.

On a night of damp weather and boredom they beat Killer more than before. The slavers said he wouldn't be able to walk. They talked about how they'd kill him the next day, with embellishments because part of him was the enemy and this was the closest they could come to revenge.

The dark blue eyes of the other boy were empty and unfocused, but he walked when the others walked. At the end of the day he lay down, and sighed. He did not move when the others scrambled for chunks of dry bread.

Blue-Eyes got two, and broke one in half again to get a piece small enough to soften in his mouth. He squatted as far as he could get from the others, given the neck chains that linked them all at night. That put him nearer to Killer than would have been wise, when the other boy was whole.

The boy's eyes opened. Blue-Eyes stopped chewing. Killer looked at him, and looked past him, and closed his eyes again. His face never changed. There was no rage on it, no fear, none of the cruel amusement with which he'd watch the smaller boy try for food he'd never get. Just . . . a mild curiousity.

("This is what I see on my last night living. Another boy eating what could have been mine, a fallen tree, a sky with clouds. This is all there is.")

Blue-Eyes crawled closer, feeling for the other boy's hand. It found him first. The long fingers caught his throat.

"If you want my shirt, wait until morning. I still need it tonight."

The fingers couldn't grip. Blue-Eyes felt the arm tremble. If fell back to the ground. Blue-Eyes dropped the larger chunk of bread by it and backed away.

Killer needed to use two hands together to get the bread to his mouth. Before he was done, the rest of the coffle were mostly huddled for sleep. Blue-Eyes edged forward and put the last half-piece on the ground.

"The other part is here," he whispered, patting the front of his shirt.

"Give it to me."

"It would be wasted if you die tomorrow. I'll eat it myself if you don't keep moving to the end of the day."

The next day was like the day before. Somehow Killer stayed on his feet. The slavers were uneasy. They said the Greencoat blood made him strong like an animal.

Killer's eyes were different though. The blankness was gone, replaced by something not far from panic. He looked at Blue-Eyes when he thought Blue-Eyes didn't see, then stared at the grey sky when the other boy looked around.

In the evening Blue-Eyes won two pieces of bread again. He gave them to Killer.

"Where is the piece you saved yesterday," Killer asked, when he'd eaten them.

"Ah, I didn't think you'd live all day. I ate it myself when the sun was high."

"Liar. You had nothing saved," Killer said. "You told me a story so I would keep walking."

Blue-Eyes blushed. He turned his back on the other to sleep.

On the following day Killer was almost steady as he walked. Blue-Eyes stumbled and stared at nothing. When bread was thrown to them that evening he got only the smallest chunk. He gave it to Killer.

The other boy divided it meticulously, almost crumb by crumb, and handed back half. Then he took two chunks of bread from in his shirt and handed them to Blue-Eyes, who gave one back.

Working together, the two of them had an advantage even over grown men. They did not sleep empty-bellied after that, not if the slavers gave them anything at all.

Late in the darkness Killer whispered, "Are you asleep?"

Blue-Eyes was silent. Killer spoke in another land's tongue, and then in the one they shared.

"You have fed a clanless cur at your table and he will be your hound. Send me to hunt and I will bring you meat. Though the lion roars your flocks will fatten, for I will ward them. Does any man seek your rest with knife at hand, he shall find me at your lintel."

He shifted to fit his bones to the earth warmed by his body, and he slept. And Blue-Eyes, who had been close to sleep before, lay awake instead.


	2. Two and Two

Chapter Two: Two and Two

"Sister, bite my finger off."

The slavers had a prize, a woman not ill-looking, old enough to wed and still maiden. She came with an encumbrance though. When they tried to take her lame brother from her she howled and fought, until it seemed she might damage her value. The boy could not keep up though.

For most of two days she carried him. By the end of the second day she staggered. Blue-Eyes thought she would be too stiff and weary the next day, to fight as she had fought before. The slavers would take the boy from her.

"Why do you ask that, little brother?"

"The stories say children are confused when they die, and get lost. I don't want to be a sobbing on the wind. I want to stay with you! If you have part of me I can follow it. A bone isn't heavy; you can carry it with you."

Of course the slavers kept their prize apart from the others, but the night was still and whispers carried.

"You don't weigh so much more than a bone, little brother. I can carry you for a long time."

She couldn't. When she fell to her knees in the road, Blue-Eyes was beside her.

"Give him here. Quickly, before the guard looks this way."

The woman was slow to respond, or perhaps to trust, but her dark-eyed brother was quick. He pivoted on his hale leg and reached for Blue-Eyes' shoulders.

"Hurry! Carry me ahead. Don't let them hurt her."

"Don't worry, little goat," Killer said, walking alongside. "They won't touch her. You're the one they'll risk marring."

He did not say to the boy (as he had said to Blue-Eyes the night before) that it was better for a cripple to die early than late.

The boy chattered like an autumn tree. The slavers called him Cripple, but his name was Swift before. By the end of a day's march Blue-Eyes knew that the slavers themselves had crippled him, kicking his knee out of joint when he tried to keep them from his sister.

"So they should not complain now, for they gave themselves a burden!"

His sister was called Tallneck, for she walked like a noble. She was all the family he had. Mother and father had gone before he could know or grieve for them.

"Sister can read and write," he boasted, "and cast horoscopes, and interpret the flight of birds and the fall of leaves."

"And so can I," Killer scoffed, "for leaves fall when winter comes, and birds fly to find food or nest again."

Because he could not run, Cripple was not chained at night like the rest of them. He hurried back to his sister's side when the coffle stopped, now hopping on one leg and now scuttling with a foot and two hands.

At dawn Tallneck was stronger and took up Cripple as before, but when the guard was inattentive her green eyes met blue ones. Cripple lurched to the other boy's reach. Killer was the only one who saw the guards watch Blue-Eyes that afternoon.

The road came to the sea, and ran beside a beach a while. A fisherman sold his son to the slavers, though not for famine's sake as the boy was heavy with flesh. He smiled like a fool. When he tried to greet the other boys Killer wouldn't speak, and Cripple claimed Blue-Eyes' attention.

That night the slavers beat Blue-Eyes, though they were careful not to mar his face or break his bones.

"Stay away from the girl," they said. "We know what you want, and she's no meat for you."

But when Tallneck tired and Cripple scuttled to Blue-Eyes again, the boy picked him up. Killer scowled.

"Give him here."

Cripple looked wary, and wound his arms around Blue-Eyes' neck. Blue-Eyes shook his head.

"You know they only want a small excuse for you. I'll be fine. Port-city is near. They won't do anything that can't heal by the time we reach it."

"I can carry him. The sprat's no weight at all, compared to a day's catch."

They had not noticed the fisher-boy moving closer, for all his size. Blue-Eyes tried to argue.

"I can't let you risk . . . ."

"The slavers won't think I'm plotting anything. Nobody ever does."

He gave them another foolish grin. Killer glared at him, but Blue-Eyes turned to the little boy.

"What do you think, Swift? You're the one who should choose."

Cripple curled around Blue-Eyes for a better look at the stranger, like a squirrel around a tree.

"Do you know any stories?"

"Of course I do! What else can we do on winter nights, when the wind is clawing and the fire's banked? You've heard about the dragon under the sea, right?"

"Who?"

"He's one of the six gods, Sea's Master, and he has a castle under the waves all made of glowing shell. Once a poor fisher-boy . . . ."

"Like you!" the child crowed, leap-frogging across Killer to a new bearer.

The fisher-boy caught him easily.

"A little like me, but I never caught a talking fish. The fish begged to be released, for he served the Sea's Master, and though the boy was very hungry he took pity on the fish. Anyhow, would you eat something that talked to you? The next day a procession came to the door of his hut . . . ."

At evening Cripple limped back to his sister as usual. Killer shouldered the fisher-boy aside.

"You walk and talk, so you can't be as stupid as you look . . . ."

"Hey!"

". . .You bring trouble to him, and my teeth are at your throat."

Killer crouched to glare at the fisher-boy, snarling so it was easy to see a wolf's face for his.

"I wouldn't do anything to get a little kid hurt."

"Not him. Him!"

"Who?" Blue-eyes asked. "You idiots are missing the evening's bread."

_[The first sentence of this chapter made me think i should up the rating a bit. Am i too sensitive? Also: "The slavers won't think I'm plotting anything. Nobody ever suspects the Hufflepuff!"]_


	3. Whom the Gods Love

Chapter Three: Whom the Gods Love

The road followed the coast for several days. The winds were chill off the sea, though the daylight lengthened. When the slavers rested Cripple crawled down to the beach and played in racing patches of sunlight. He came back shivering. The fisher-boy told him the names of the shells he found, and what lived in them before.

At last they saw the black stone walls of the slave pens. Two of the male slaves went mad that day. The slavers beat them to death for slowing the coffle, but they couldn't whip the rest enough to make up the time. Not until the morning after, a quiet golden morning, did they walk through the gate of the dark walls.

They passed the guard-hog kennels on the way in, but the hogs were locked away for the day. The sorting pen had fresh straw. The one window was high and barred. The sky beyond was blue. The absence of wind felt almost like warmth for a while.

The three boys had an end of the pen to themselves. Cripple crawled through the bars and joined them, since Tallneck was taken to the women's side. No-one spoke much. The factor came that afternoon to sort them.

"The docks can always use another strong back to load cargo," he said, looking at the fisher-boy.

He stared a long time at Killer, and he looked as if he smelled something foul.

"That one goes to the mines, and none too soon."

He smiled at Blue-Eyes though.

"The boy's a gem, and young enough to cut. We'll have the dockside houses bidding high for him."

Cripple he didn't seem to see at all, and he moved on to the other men. The boys sat so still that a sparrow dropped in past the bars of the window and began scratching in the straw. When it startled away Killer made a sign with his hand, five fingers flicked outward.

"Is that a luck sign?" Cripple asked. "I've never seen it before."

"Death comes on wings, my people say, so we're wary of birds. The swallow comes for children, since their souls are light. The swan comes for women, the owl for commoners who die in the dark, the eagle for nobles, and the condor for the great souls of warriors. But if they do not carry our souls to the Mountain, the soul rots with the body."

Killer had never said so much. The others couldn't help but stare. He shivered.

"In the mines a strong man lives less than a year. They spill the day's dead with the tailings to lie in the dark."

The fisher-boy lay back in the straw. His eyes were fixed on the square of sky.

"My fate's so good I should be grateful. I've hauled the nets in and raised sail. What's hard work to me? But the Sea's Master erred to spare me, if the work I do goes to buy rich men their clothes. And other pleasures."

He shut his mouth sharply on that, and flicked a glance at where Blue-Eyes sat with his head back, looking up. Cripple protested.

"But you didn't catch a talking fish. You said you didn't."

"Ah, this is another story. A different story."

"Did you meet Sea's Master? Was he a dragon, or a man in robes? Was he mad at you? Why?"

"I was a baby then. I don't know who I met. But they said in the village . . . . The boats were out at the fishing grounds. The harbor wave only rocked them, like any wave. At the village though, the tide fell out of moon-time. Some people ran to pick up the stranded fish, and some stared, and some feared the gods and ran for the hillside. The sea came back though, and ran faster."

"The day the dragon walked. The earth shook in Hawkhame too," Blue-Eyes said, who hadn't moved.

"My mother died, and my sisters. Almost all of the women and children. And I was left at the highest point the waters reached. They said I was laughing when they found me."

He sat up.

"Before a man goes out on the boats he's marked, so if a body drifts in and the fish have eaten the face and hands, we still know where to bury him. This is what I got, so I'd remember who held my debt."

He pulled the homespun shirt off his shoulders, so it fell around his waist. Across his chest, points of ink made the shape of a dragon among waves.

"He chose you. One of the Five chose you. I'm going to find Sister and tell her!"

Killer showed his teeth as Cripple hopped away.

"Those the gods love, die young."

"Your village says that too? My stepmother feared I'd bring misfortune to the roof that sheltered her son, so I was sent away."

They looked at Blue-Eyes and then looked away, like travelers who fear a forest for its silence.

"Ah, um . . . well, that's my story," the fisher-boy finished.

"Are you waiting for some return? Have it, then! A dog gives loyalty to the one who cares for it, but to be free of a collar the wolf will tear the hand that feeds it. So traitors and outlaws are named wolf-kin."

Killer was careful as he rolled up his sleeve, the fabric too worn to take much pulling. Across the muscle of his arm was the livid scar of a brand. The outline could have been the head of a wolf.

"My father disputed with his chief. We were branded and sent to run. I saw my mother and father cut down. Fighting the Deathmaid, I fell in the river. Strangers found me, and they sold me. That's all."

"The slavers are wrong," Blue-Eyes said.

"And who are you to say it?" Killer jeered. "A child and a slave? Who holds the sword, holds the truth!"

"Wrong about you. You're no mother's-son, war-gotten."

Killer rolled to his feet and glared down at the slighter boy. Blue-Eyes didn't react to the shadow cast across him.

"Say nothing about my mother!"

"If you ask it." He still hadn't changed position, but his words went on. "My father was a hawk-helm, hired to guard against bandits or Greencoat raiders. When he was gone people would say that this time he must have died, this time he wouldn't return to us, My mother told me he'd come back, and he always did . . . . But she couldn't tell me to hope any more. And he was gone so long!"

The fisher-boy made a soft noise and looked at the straw, when he saw tears on Blue-Eyes' still face. Killer growled and turned to strike the wall.

"But that isn't the worst of it."


End file.
